On My Way
by Tanya Tsuki
Summary: It's the 1840's and England is accompanying America on a trip through the Western Frontier. All appears to go well until America wants to change things up and gets them lost just before nightfall.


_A/N: Hetalia is not mine. This fic is set in the 1840s._

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Why England actually agreed to take a trip to the Western Frontier with America, he'd never know. It had nothing to do with America's bugging and pestering and pleading. Nothing at all! It was all because of their governments, surely. Two Nations who hated each other going on a cross continent trip? It was right up their alley. Fools.

"England!" America exclaimed once he saw him enter the building. England had all of two seconds to compose himself before America was throwing his arms around him in a hug. "I'm so glad you came! I know they said you would but I didn't think you'd _actually_ come out and be willing to take a trip with me and I'm so hap—excited and… looking forward to our trip. Together."

England pulled away and tried to act disinterested. But one look at America's beaming face and excited blue eyes, and he had no choice but to acknowledge his reason for coming. He still cared.

"Damnation."

ooOOoo

The journey started off well enough, America's tiring enthusiasm aside. Each town had been relatively welcoming, if somewhat indecent in their revelry, and their train had been hitherto left free of marauding bandits. So, of course, America wanted to change things.

"No," England snapped, his attention not on America, but on a shady character eyeing his pocket.

"Aw, but England," America pouted. "The best way to really experience the frontier is on horseback and we can just do it to the next town because it's not far and we can make it before nightfall if we leave early in the morning. It'll be fun! Please, England?" America had moved his way in front of England in order to make sure that his puppy dog expression was not overlooked.

England merely glared. He was not going to give in. Not to those eyes, not again, not this time, not ever.

America met England's glare, his lip quivering and his eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears.

England's glare wavered and he turned suddenly, smacking the would-be thief's hand away. "Fine," he grumbled, refusing to meet America's eye.

"Yay!" America shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You won't regret it!"

England could only sigh as he watched America bounding off. He couldn't believe he'd let it happen. Again.

ooOOoo

"Isn't this land just beautiful?" America gushed, releasing the reins just long enough to gesture to the open land.

"Uh huh," England snorted, barely looking away from his focal point. "That rock formation in the distance is absolutely _thrilling_." America beamed as England squinted at the rocks. "Actually, America, we have passed that formation already!"

"Don't be silly, England," America laughed.

England brought his horse to a halt, and America, confused, followed suit.

"You are lost, aren't you, America?"

America stared at him in surprise before shaking his head. "No way! This is my land! I know just where we are."

"Then why are we going in circles?" England drily asked.

"To, ah, get the full experience of the open land!" America exclaimed before nudging his horse into moving again.

"America." England reluctantly nudged his horse into following. "Are we going to make it to a town by nightfall? I do not wish to be stranded out… here." He sneered. "There is not one thing even remotely civilized about this land. It would be indecent to be caught outside in such a location, especially with bandits on the loose."

"Heh, bandits," America snorted. "We'll be fine! A little roughin' it will do you good!"

"America," England began again, but America brought his horse into a trot, and England couldn't catch his breath enough to continue the conversation.

ooOOoo

Once the sun had begun to slip below the horizon, England demanded that they stop and set up camp for the night. America had given a light-hearted protest that had England wondering if he was actually _happy_ about being stuck in the middle of nowhere.

In fact, all through setting up an extremely makeshift camp and dinner, America wouldn't (or couldn't) stop smiling and chattering away about whatever was going through his mind at that moment in time. England couldn't help but think that America really glowed in this environment, and he was struck by just how innocent and _young_ he truly was.

"England, y'okay? You're staring at me kinda funny like." America's smile had slipped into a frown.

"I'm fine," England snapped and felt himself flushing slightly as he turned away. How could he have been so stupid as to get caught staring? Pathetic. He lay down with a humph, ready to just end the day already.

America shook his head, his smile reappearing. England was acting all silly again. "G'night," he said brightly before laying down closer to the recently banked fire.

Things seemed quiet for all of a second, and then the sounds of the night—wildlife and whatever that hooting and hollering was in the distance—truly came to life, magnified, making it next to impossible for England, long accustomed to relatively quiet nights, to fall asleep. He lay awake, watching the tell-tale flowing lights of his friends lazily floating through the air. The noises increased in volume and England sighed and turned on his side, trying to suppress a shudder as the cold of the night set in. England had to admit to being partially surprised with how chilly it really was. Given the warmth America always radiated, England had slipped into a sense of delusion in thinking that his lands would be the same, always warm, never cold.

America laughed from behind England. "It's kinda chilly, isn't it? It's always so much colder at night. I hate it."

England grunted noncommittally and curled into a tighter ball. Why did America always choose the worst times to start paying attention? Always those unexpected and unwanted times. England couldn't stand it.

"It's even colder than usual tonight," America continued, sounding almost thoughtful. "Should I make the fire again?"

The hollering in the distance sounded again and England snapped into a sitting position. "Are you _daft_?" he spat, turning to face America. America, who didn't seem much bothered by the night at all. "Do you not hear that racket? Not only would you attract unwanted wildlife, but unsavory people, too!"

"Ok…" America trailed off, biting his lip.

England closed his eyes and returned to his curled position on the ground. Stupid America. Never thinking about the consequences of his actions… though a fire right about now did sound rather nice. England shivered again and tried to ignore the cold and cacophony of nighttime noises.

"I… we…" America started a couple of sentences, unable to finish any, and England simply didn't care enough to tell America to shut up or spit it out. His eyes closed, England missed the shrug and determined look on America's face. He missed seeing America move and the fairies snigger.

And then, warmth.

America was pressed against England's back, his arms snaking around to hold him close.

There was a very brief second of them laying there, reveling in each other's warmth. Then England's mind kick started again and he began to struggle against America's impossible strength.

"America! Let me go! This is improper and highly indecent!" England snarled, trying his hardest to pull away to no avail.

"But, you're cold?" America protested, sounding a bit unsure of himself.

"Don't care! I don't need you sullying my clothes!"

"Oh," America sounded dejected and pulled away, his touch lingering for just a moment before leaving completely.

England tried to ignore America's hurt look, and if that was hard, then the lack of warmth was even harder to ignore. Really, would one night be that bad? Truly? He heaved a sigh. "On second thought—"

America had squealed and thrown his arms back around England before he could even finish speaking.

England rolled his eyes and bit back a small smile, relaxing into America's warm, oh so warm, hold. One night wouldn't be that bad.

America snuggled closer to England, and his light snoring into his ear was enough to drown out the annoying Wild West orchestra enough for him to fall asleep.

((And in the morning, the rest of the trip, and the next century, the night was never spoken of.))

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___A/N: I know America doesn't appear to be his usual confident, slightly jerky but still heroic self. I kind of went with my headcanon that pre-Civil War America is more tentative and unsure of himself than we're used to seeing. He's starting to come into his own, but he's still naïve and innocent and thinks that he can be friends with people he's not supposed to be (…not that that isn't really canon, anyway :P)._


End file.
